A New Foundation
Autor
Rochelle Alers
Leituras
17,7K
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15
Chapter One
“Momma was really full of surprises today. I still can’t believe she waited until today to tell us that she bought a condo in a gated community, listed the house with a Realtor, and now she plans to take a two-hundred-forty-five-day around-the-world cruise. But what really threw me for a loop was willing us a dilapidated property and expecting us to restore it.”
Taylor Williamson met his sister’s eyes for a millisecond before he shifted his gaze back to the road and the bumper-to-bumper traffic heading for the tunnel leading into New York. “Firstly, Mom is a widow and an empty nester, and that means she doesn’t need a house with six bedrooms. And she’d always talked about taking an around-the-world cruise when Dad was alive, but she knew he would never go with her because his parents were killed during a boating accident.”
“I’m aware of that, Taylor, but why didn’t we know that Daddy had inherited a mansion he’d planned to restore once he retired?”
“That’s something I can’t answer, Viola.”
“And when Momma asked if you would supervise the restoration of his ancestral home I couldn’t believe you said yes.”
Elise Williamson had waited until her children were all together at the same time to reveal the details of her late husband’s will. Conrad Bainbridge Williamson had left her and their sons and daughter a mansion in northern New Jersey.
“I agreed because it’s something both Mom and Dad wanted. And, don’t forget I wasn’t the only one to agree. Tariq said he was willing to get involved once he finished his postgraduate program, and then later fulfill his obligation at the horse farm. Even Joaquin is willing to become involved as the landscape architect. Only you and Patrick are the holdouts.”
“But that means you have to quit your position at the engineering firm where you’ve just been promoted to an assistant project supervisor.”
A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Taylor’s mouth. “I know, but if I assume the responsibility of overseeing the restoration, then not only will I supervise my own team, I’ll be working for the family.” His mother had given him two steamer trunks filled with blueprints, floor plans, correspondence and documents linked to Bainbridge House. Conrad had stored the trunks in the attic of the farmhouse with the intent to review them once he retired.
“Right now, you’re the only one in the family that has actually committed. There’s no guarantee that Joaquin and Tariq won’t change their minds a year or two from now.”
Taylor wanted to ask Viola why she insisted on being a Negative Nelly. He really did not want to argue with his sister, not when he’d grown tired of her complaining that she wanted to run her own restaurant kitchen. As a professionally trained chef she had secured a position at an Upper East Side Michelin-starred restaurant. And if she did agree to come on board once the hundred-room mansion was restored to its original magnificence she would have the autonomy she’d craved since graduating culinary school. She would supervise her own staff at the family-owned business Taylor had planned to convert into a hotel and venue for weddings and private parties that could accommodate up to three hundred guests. It would take some time before the property would be fully restored, and while Taylor didn’t want a firm commitment from Viola he did want her to consider it.
“I know a lot can happen in that time, but right now I have to believe they’re willing to get involved.” There was more than a hint of confidence in his prediction.
His brothers Joaquin and Tariq seemed genuinely interested in becoming involved in the restoration of Bainbridge House, and Patrick had offered to oversee the financial component. He had worked for their father as a CPA after graduating college. Then he’d become involved with a woman whose father and uncles were winemakers. Patrick subsequently divided his time between working in their father’s office and at a Long Island vineyard, and after a few years decided growing grapes and turning them into wine was his passion.
“We’ll see,” Viola replied, her voice skeptical. “What I don’t understand is why did Momma wait until now to tell us about the abandoned property?”
Taylor knew he had to be truthful with his sister because it would eventually come out that he’d known what Elise Williamson was prepared to reveal once all of her children were together for the first time since the passing of her husband of forty-nine years. That had been the second week in January, and now it was late March and Easter Sunday.
It was a Williamson family tradition for everyone to get together at Easter. Conrad’s death was unexpected because at seventy-four he hadn’t exhibited any health issues. Elise said he’d complained of feeling tired and had gone to bed earlier than usual, and sometime during the night he’d died from what the medical examiner documented as natural causes. From that time until now, Taylor had established a routine of sharing dinner with his mother the first Sunday of the month.
“Mom kind of hinted to me that she had some news that involved all five of us, and if we were amenable it would change our lives,” Taylor admitted.
“Did she tell you that Daddy had inherited a huge old house sitting on over three hundred acres in North Jersey?”
Taylor stretched his right arm over the back of Viola’s headrest when traffic came to a complete standstill. He’d wanted to leave earlier to get back to Connecticut before ten, but first he had to drop his sister off in Greenwich Village, and with the buildup of holiday traffic he estimated he’d probably make it home sometime around midnight.
“She did tell me a couple of months ago that Dad had left us some property, and he’d talked about restoring it once he retired. He’d gone so far as to file for permits and approval for variances to convert the property from residential to commercial. But we all know that golfing took precedence over everything.”
After their father sold his private equity/venture capitalist company he’d hired a golf pro to teach him the game. The only time he wasn’t on the green was when it rained or snowed.
“Since Daddy’s gone and a developer wanted to buy the property, why wouldn’t Mom sell it?”
Again Taylor met Viola’s large hazel eyes, and he noticed the dark circles under the brilliant orbs. He didn’t know whether she wasn’t getting enough sleep or she was putting in too many hours at the restaurant. “She told me when Dad updated his will he’d wanted her to keep the property in the family.”
Viola bit her lip. “I don’t want to sound callous, but there’s nothing keeping her from not honoring a dead man’s wishes.”
Taylor removed his arm and ran a hand over cropped coarse hair. “Maybe when you’ve been married to a man for almost fifty years you might feel an obligation to honor his last wishes.”
As soon as the words left his lips he saw a flush suffuse Viola’s light brown complexion. Although they were brother and sister, they did not share DNA. In fact, none of the Williamson brothers and sister were biological siblings.
“You’re right,” she said, apologizing after a pause. “Maybe because you’re closer to Momma than any of us, you know her better.”
“I’m not any closer than you. I just get to see her more often.”
“That’s not what Patrick says. He claims you’re Momma’s favorite.”
“I don’t know why Patrick would say that when she has treated all of us the same. And if she did have a favorite it would be you because she always said she wanted a daughter.”
Viola laughed. “Being the only girl with four brothers definitely has its advantages.”
A special bond had developed between Conrad and Elise Williamson’s five foster children, and it had grown even stronger when they all stood together in the courtroom to make their adoption legal. That day was imprinted indelibly in Taylor’s memory.
At six, he had been the couple’s first foster child. A year later two-year-old Joaquin joined the family. He was nine when fourteen-month-old Viola became his foster sister and the darling of the family. The year he celebrated his tenth birthday eight-year-old Patrick and five-year-old Tariq became his third foster brothers. Elise had joked they would not get another sibling because the farmhouse in Belleville, New Jersey, had six bedrooms and seven baths, and she wanted everyone to have their own bedroom.
For Taylor, not having to share a bedroom or a bed with another child was something that had taken him a while to get used to. That, and having enough food to eat. There were times when he slept and woke that he feared the social worker would knock on the door and take him to another foster home, and when he verbalized this to his foster mother Elise had insisted he call her Mom promised he could live with her as long as he wanted.
Not knowing who his biological father was and losing his mother before he’d celebrated his third birthday and then going to live with his mother’s sister, who took him in because it meant more money in her social services check, had emotionally scarred him as a child. As a preschooler he’d grown used to seeing his aunt’s belly growing bigger whenever she’d become pregnant with another child, and her drunken binges where she would pass out while he and his cousins had to find whatever they could in the refrigerator to keep from starving.
Taylor’s deprivation ended when his first-grade teacher contacted the school’s social worker because she suspected he was being neglected. He’d worn the same clothes for a week and appeared undernourished. Child Protective Services became involved and he was placed in foster care. Unlike some children that were shuffled from one foster home to another he was lucky because he had been assigned to the home of Conrad and Elise Williamson. Unable to have children of their own they had decided to become foster parents. He didn’t attend regular classes like most kids his age because as a former teacher Elise had decided to homeschool him. In the sprawling farmhouse, she’d turned a space in her library into a classroom, and by the time he was eight he was reading at a seventh-grade level.
“If you’re serious about overseeing the restoration, then I know someone that may be able help you,” Viola said.
“Who?”
“I have a friend who’s an architectural historian, and when I saw the furnishings in the mansion I immediately thought of her. She’s currently working at a Madison Avenue art gallery, and she has an uncanny gift for recognizing and authenticating antiques. In other words, she’s an expert and a genius in her field.”
Taylor knew Viola was right about the antiques in the French-inspired château known as the Bainbridge House. Many were stored on shelves in the mansion’s cellar, while others were in ballrooms and bedroom suites. The property was set back off a private road, surrounded by ten-foot stone walls with a massive iron gate. An on-site caretaker had taken up residence in one of the half dozen guesthouses.
“I know I’m going to have everything appraised for insurance purposes,” Taylor said.
“And I’m certain Sonja will be able to ascertain what is authentic and what is a reproduction.” Reaching into the tote on the floor between her feet, Viola took out her cell phone. “I’m going to call her to ask if she’s willing to help you out.”
“I don’t want to impose on her if she has a job.”
“I don’t believe it would be an imposition because she works part-time.”
Taylor glanced at Viola as she tapped the number and then activated the speaker feature. The phone rang twice before being answered.
“Happy Easter.”
“Thank you. Happy Easter to you, too, and your family. I hope I’m not calling at a bad time.”
“No, not at all. What’s up, Vi?”
“I’m calling because I want to know if you would be willing to appraise some items in a house that has been in my father’s family since the 1880s.”
“Where is it?”
“It’s in north Jersey. I have you on speaker because I’m in the car with my brother who will be responsible for the restoration.”
“How many pieces are you talking about?”
“A lot, Sonja. The house sits on three hundred acres and has more than a hundred rooms.”
There was a noticeable silence until Sonja’s voice filled the interior of the SUV again. “That sounds like quite a project.”
Viola shared a smile with Taylor. “It is. Maybe you and Taylor can meet, and then he’ll be able explain everything to you.”
There came another pause. “Okay. I have to go into the gallery all this week because we’re having an exhibition Friday night, but I’m free Saturday and Sunday.”
“What if I make a reservation at the restaurant in Taylor’s name for you to meet him Saturday night.” Taylor nodded when Viola’s eyebrows lifted questioningly.
“That sounds good. It isn’t often that I get to eat at The Cellar.”
Viola smiled. “I guess that settles it. How does seven work for you?”
“It works.”
“Good. I’ll give my brother your number so if something comes up he’ll be able to contact you.”
“Saturday at seven,” Sonja confirmed.
“Thanks, Sonja.”
“No, thank you, Viola. You know how excited I get whenever I’m approached about a new assignment.”
“Even though I’ll be in the kitchen, I’ll make certain to come out and see you.” Viola rang off and then turned to smile at Taylor. “That’s one thing you can cross off your to-do list.”
“I really appreciate that.” And he did.
Viola took Taylor’s phone off the console and programmed Sonja’s number. “I think you’re going to like Sonja. And don’t get your nose out of joint, because I’m not trying to hook you up with her—she’s currently not into dating,” Viola said quickly.
Taylor stared straight ahead as traffic began moving again. He’d lost count of the number of times Viola had attempted to set him up with a few of her friends. The year before, he’d read her the riot act, and she finally took the hint that he’d never had a problem asking a woman out. But he hadn’t been in a relationship for a while—not since he’d dated an attorney exclusively until she decided to reconcile with her ex-husband.
“She sounds like someone I could get along with.”
“You two are like bookends.”
“Why would you say that?” Taylor asked Viola.
“Both of you are laser focused on your careers.”
Taylor wanted to tell Viola that he’d had to make up for the five years when he’d dropped out of college before deciding to return to complete the courses he needed for his degree. He accelerated as he entered the tunnel and twenty minutes later he maneuvered up to the curb in front of the four-story apartment building along a tree-lined street in the West Village. Viola lived in a two-bedroom apartment in a renovated building with a doorman and rented the extra bedroom to a nurse that worked the night shift at a local hospital.
Viola unbuckled her seat belt, leaned over and kissed Taylor’s cheek. “Thanks for the ride.”
He patted her short curly hair. “Anytime, kid.”
“I’ll try and see you when you come in Saturday.”
“Don’t stress yourself if you can’t get out of the kitchen.” Taylor had taken the train down from Connecticut and into Manhattan a week after Viola had been hired at the restaurant. He’d wanted to discover why the establishment had earned the prestigious Michelin star and was more than impressed with what he’d ordered. The Cellar opened for dinner Tuesday through Saturday, and reserving a table was highly recommended.
“Just send me a text when you arrive, and whenever I get a break I’ll come out to see you.”
Taylor knew it was useless to argue with Viola, because once she set her mind to something, she was like a dog with a bone. “Okay.” Viola grasped the handles of her tote and opened the passenger-side door. He waited until she walked into the lobby of the building and then programmed the navigation app for the best route to Stamford, Connecticut.
During the drive he thought about how his supervisor would react to his resigning within weeks of getting a promotion. Not only would he leave the firm, but also he had to make plans to relocate from Connecticut to New Jersey. The decision wouldn’t be an easy one because he liked his job, but when he had to weigh it against not leaving or undertaking a family project the latter won out. He owed everything that he’d become to Conrad and Elise Williamson and for Taylor it was family above all. He tapped the screen on the dashboard and activated the Bluetooth for his mother’s number. She picked up after the first ring.
“I just got a text from Viola that you dropped her off.”
Elise was overly protective when it came to Viola. Initially, she’d been apprehensive about her daughter living alone New York City, fearing she would become a crime statistic. “Mom, you’re going to have to stop pressuring Viola to check in with you. She’s not a child—she’s a twenty-eight-year-old woman living and working in the city that is now her home.”
“I know, Taylor, but I can’t help it. You don’t know how many times I’ve blamed myself for homeschooling all of you. Perhaps if I’d enrolled my children in traditional schools where they were able to interact with other kids or signed you up for sleepaway camp and had other kids for sleepovers, then I wouldn’t be so overprotective.”
Taylor did not remind his mother that he and his siblings did not have sleepovers because they had one another. “Don’t beat up on yourself, Mom. You did a fantastic job raising us. Just try and ease up on Viola. I know you’re selling the house, and I’d like you to ask your Realtor to find a rental for me within a ten-mile radius of Bainbridge House.” Taylor estimated it would take at least two years for the main house suites and guesthouses to be completely refurbished, and he intended to make one of the guesthouses his permanent residence.
“You don’t need a rental because you can live in my condo for as long as you want. I’ve already furnished it. I plan to live here until closing.”
“Do you think you’ll be able to sell the house before you leave for your cruise?”
“Hopefully, yes. I have another four months and the Realtor reassures me he will be able find a buyer by that time. If not, then I’ll close it up, take the cruise and deal with selling it once I return.”
The 5000-square-foot farmhouse built on four acres with an in-ground pool and tennis and basketball courts would be perfect for a large or extended family. It was where Taylor had learned to swim, shoot hoops and play tennis. He and his brothers and sister had not needed a day or sleepaway camp during the summer months when they cooked and played outdoors from sunrise to sunset. The Williamson kids agreed they’d had the best childhood possible. They had also grown up with pets ranging from dogs, cats, birds and fish, plus a family of rabbits that kept multiplying until Elise decided to give them to pet shops.
“Thanks for offering your condo. I recently got a notice for a lease renewal, so the timing is perfect.” Before he vacated the apartment he would have to pack up the furnishings and ship them to a New Jersey storage facility.
“You don’t have to thank me, Taylor. You know there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for my children. When I see you next month I’ll give you a set of keys and the remote device for the gate. I’ll also put your name on the management list in case you’re approached by security. Better yet, the next time you come down I’ll take you to see my new home.”
Although Elise had dropped hints about Bainbridge House, she had been completely mum when it came to her purchasing the two-bedroom unit in a gated community with amenities that included indoor and outdoor pools, tennis courts, an on-site concierge for laundry, dry cleaning, recreation center, supermarket and coffeeshop. Conrad’s death had left Elise a very wealthy widow. He had also established a trust to restore Bainbridge House with the proceeds from the sale of his investment company totaling more than a half billion dollars.
“Okay. I’ll talk to you later.”
“I love you, Taylor.”
“Love you, too, Mom.” It didn’t matter that she hadn’t given birth to him—he couldn’t have loved her more even if she had. She was soft-spoken, patient, affectionate and fiercely protective of her children. Elise, aware of the traumas her sons and daughter had experienced before being placed in foster care, made certain all had been in therapy, individually and as a family group. The sessions had allowed them to work through their unresolved issues while at the same time forming and tightening the bond as a family unit. This is not to say Taylor and his siblings didn’t have their squabbles, but as they grew older they learned to settle their differences without spewing hateful words with the intent to hurt one another.
Taylor groaned under his breath when he saw the traffic signs indicating delays on the New York State Thruway. Slumping lower in the seat, he turned on the satellite radio, tuning it to a station featuring cool jazz. The melodious sound of a tenor sax filled the interior of the SUV as he recalled the events of the day. He had reunited with Joaquin and Patrick, who’d flown in together from California, and Tariq, who had driven up from Alabama earlier in the week.
Tariq was on spring break from Tuskegee University where he was enrolled in postgraduate courses in veterinary medicine and had planned to spend the time with their mother. Patrick and Joaquin would fly out from Newark International at the end of the week. Patrick had delayed his return to go over the trust their father had set up for the restoration project in which Conrad had named his accountant son the executor.
Elise was ecstatic once Taylor agreed to assume responsibility to restore her late husband’s ancestral home to its original magnificence. He planned to focus on the exterior before the interiors. It wasn’t only the château that needed work but also the guest cottages, vineyard, orchards, stables, formal gardens, a bridle path, and a nine-hole golf course all of which were in poor condition.
Taylor had been forthcoming with Viola when he told her Elise had dropped hints about inheriting property from her husband she’d wanted to share with her children. She’d finally revealed that not only was Bainbridge House listed in the National Register of Historic Places, but a trust had been established more than seventy years ago to cover property taxes and salaries for future generations of resident caretakers.
Taylor estimated it would take at least two years to completely renovate the house, barns and outbuildings, and hopefully by that time it would be ready to become a successful family enterprise.
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